Rise of the Kirin (Chapters 8 & 9)
Posted: Mon Apr 20, 2009 4:42 pm
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Chapter 8 (Surprise Party)
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Roh'i checked the cargo manifest for the sixth time since leaving Oresle: A few tons each of industrial lubricants, first-aid kits, tools, component parts, industrial grade gems, and alloys, and one hermasealed and triple locked UPS container simply labelled "Technical Documents." All completely legit, and not the sort of haulage that attracts pirates in most circumstances. Also not unusual was the destination, Pteredyne Tech's Factory Station #4 at Enonla; it was the sort of cargo a shipbuilding business like Pteredyne ordered all the time. Yet no details were given on the nature of the load in the briefing data he was given, which struck him as odd.
Equally strange was the extra equipment fitted along with the turret batteries - A military shield enhancement, a Naval energy unit, and a piece of kit so rare and irreplaceable that only a few lucky commanders had one: a cloaking device.
It was all very strange that such invaluable kit was fitted for a mere milk run, and the Mystery Man's warning that hired guns may try to stop him made Roh'i suspicious that there was more going down than was normal for shakedown runs of a prototype ship, especially a fracking freighter. Not your run of the mill bulk carrier granted; the beast packed as much total firepower as his Dragon M, if not more, and it's laser aim and precise turning made extended range laser sniping a desirable tactic. Still, nothing about this job was adding up...
While they had encountered a few pirates along the way, most of the criminals were flying medium sized craft armed with beam lasers and standard missiles, and weren't much of a threat judging by their poor evasion tactics. With the skills of Roh'i and his brilliant young mechanic at the controls, the armaments of the Kirin were able to dispatch or scare them off with swift efficiency. So much for hired mercs, Roh'i thought as he pulled away and out of the corona of the Maxeedso system's sun. Whoever was doing the hiring was reaching for the lowest, and most expendable cannon fodder he, she or it could find. Not to mention the most untraceable...
"Best to come up with a Plan B, and soon," Roh'i thought to himself. "This deal is starting to smell rather rotten."
Ramania interrupted the big saurian's thoughts, "Hey Boss, the mystery guy... Always puppeteering a mech and masking his calls. Kinda spooky, y'know?"
"Yeah," Roh'i nodded. "Like having conversations with a ghost."
"I gotta wonder what's up with that..."
"I don't know, Kitten. But I'll respect his reasons for the privacy. None of our business, Kitten. We just fly this damn ship, nothing more, nothing less. If this fiasco turns sour on us, we'll ditch this beast and cut our losses, I'll call in some favors, and good riddance to the whole rigmarole. I don't intend to put up with the crazy crap any more than I have to." Roh'i snorted, "I'm getting too old and jaded for nonsense."
Ramania nodded, "I trust your gut feelings, Boss. As always." She knew he has limited tolerance for cloak and dagger dealings, it was all too shady and dishonest for his nature, and usually his instincts steered them away from trouble too hot to handle.
"One more Witch jump, Kitten. You ready?"
"Finally! On your mark, Bossdragon."
"Let 'er rip."
Ramania tapped a few command buttons on her console, and a soft rumbling vibrated the deck plating as the hyperdrive spun up. A few seconds later came the gravitic surge as the ship fell into a self-generated wormhole.
Enonla. A shining blue-green world. For a high TL industrial economy, the planet is mostly pollution free, due to strict local laws controlling industrial waste. It also helped that most of the factories were orbital platforms.
The system was also heavily patrolled; as a corporate state, system authorities could afford to deploy large numbers of police craft. Despite the policing, pirates did make assaults on trade traffic coming into the system.
The warning klaxon sounded as soon as the ship emerged from Witch space. "Contacts!" Ramania swiftly ID'd the incoming ships, "Krait mk1, Krait mk2, Dragon AN, and Imperial Courier, closing fast!"
"Now that's a welcome wagon. Arm all weapons, Kitten." Roh'i opened a broadcomm channel, "Welcome, gentle beings, to Hell's Kitchen. I'm your chef, Wyvern..." Roh'i's jovial rumble turned into a vicious, predatory growl, "...And I'm gonna cook you bastards for lunch!"
The reaction from the hostiles was immediate. "Wyvern? THE Wyvern?! Oh frak this! I'm outta here, man. I have kids to support!" "Ditto what Rosco said, I'm not taking that guy on. My ass ain't iron enough." "Vin, Rosco! Get your asses back here, dammit!"
Roh'i switched off the comm, watching the Kraits break and run without firing a shot. "That's two out of the picture already."
An incoming laser volly from the two remaining hostiles stitched across the Kirin's forward fuselage, quickly dropping the fore shield and cutting through the fuel scoop, rendering it useless. "Mil lasers! So they want to play hardball, eh?" Roh'i growled, his throat reddening with rage. "Gimme the nuke!"
Roh'i turned the ship to present the Kirin's narrow side profile to the remaining pirates, locked the nuclear torpedo onto the Courier, and launched it before targeting the Dragon and lancing the Dragon's hull with a burst from the the side beam laser.
The Courier triggered it's ECM and turned away from the torpedo, but too late as the weapon struck home, blasting off the Courier's vulnerable outboard engines and leaving it tumbling harmlessly out of control. Escape pods ejected from the stricken craft, the pirate crew deciding to abandon ship before a few rounds from the Kirin's turret batteries caused it's overloaded reactor to detonate, spraying debris in all directions.
Meanwhile, the Dragon broke to escape the Kirin's side laser barrage, only to come within the firing arc of the Kirin's dual aft turrets. Roh'i switched to the aft gun camera, triggering the ECM as the Dragon launched a volly of standard missiles, and lined up the aft beam laser while the Dragon began to bleed sparks from it's damaged hull. The Dragon fired a token laser burst into the Kirin's aft shield; Roh'i returned fire, and the withering combo of plasma 'shells' and precise beam laser fire tore the hostile ship into an expanding cloud of debris.
Ramania smirked, "They shoulda taken Rosco's advice."
"Ayup. What's the damage, Kitten?"
"Minimal. Some hull damage but we're not holed too bad, no atmosphere loss. The nav array is fried, and the scoop is offlined. That's it, Bossdragon."
Roh'i nodded to her and pulled the ship back on course, activating the Torus. "Overall, not too bad. Repairs shouldn't cost too much."
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Chapter 9 (The Wages of Greed)
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Meechuck Vin, despite the rather fetid air in his cockpit, breathed a huge sigh of relief. His lashed together, clapped out Krait had, for once, performed within range of its elusive factory specs. He watched, as some distant acquaintances, and the smart looking military corporal paying him for this "simple" blast and grab operation, evaporated into white blossoms of shrapnel and cargo contents. Vin didn't mind admitting it he was a coward, and a bloody good one too. If the alternatives were, one; coward or two; brave frozen blood streak, smeared evenly through deep space. Then he knew which one he wanted to be.
He had to admit, nagging doubts had started creeping into his mind as soon as the "target" arrived in system. It all sounded so much simpler in the bar where he'd woken up that morning. His bar bill paid, 500 credits wired directly into his account, free tank of sun juice and all they wanted in return was to scare some hick trader who'd be witching in that afternoon. The plan was good, "You're just there to make up the numbers Vin, its not like you'll actually have to do anything! That's what we've got the Dragon for." The plan looked even better after three large Enonlan SornBerry rums. Unfortunately after the time taken convincing flight control that he was sober enough to fly and getting everyone out to the beacon, they were running late and he had lost his alcohol fired urge for the whole endeavor. Still, a job was a job. Then that thing had arrived. It wasn't a ship, it was a small town with engines stuck on the back of it. Correction, it was a small town, with engines, enough plasma turrets to happily wage a small war, being piloted by one of the 8 chart's better known killers. The rumors Vin had heard painted the combateer known as Wyvern as a ruthless demon, said to have very little fear or mercy. Piss that guy off and you'll soon end up dead, they said.
Dragon, shmagon, he don't care if the corporal was a secret elite. This was bad magic, time to go. So Meechuck used the fuel bought for him that morning to leave the others to their fate. Regrettable, but the only witnesses were either dead, as cowardly as he was, or hunter killer hard-asses like Wyvern who frequented bars much rougher than those he frequently lost himself in. His reputation, such as it was, appeared to be safe.
As his adrenalin levels subsided, so his thoughts began to clear and the other driving force that directed Meechuck Vins rather simplistic actions began once again to assert itself. Opportunism. Looking down, Vin saw the rim of his scanner was freckled in inviting white dots. The mountain ship had torus-ed planet side a few moments ago, apparently completely ignoring the cargo and debris left over from the some what one sided battle. The vague notion that there would be a certain amount of disrespect, in sifting through the remains of his compatriots ships. Especially considering his some what lacklustre performance, sailed right through his mind without so much as touching the sides. Screw em. They're dead. He's not. Someone was going to profit from this galactic abortion. It might as well be him. He spun the somewhat sweaty yoke. Next stop, free cred city.
But there was something wrong, usually to close the last few clicks Meetuck double tapped the torus drive. This not only got him to his catch quickly, but also acted as an early warning system, just in case there were any other ships around that he might need to be aware of. It failed to engage. He rechecked the scanner; a spotted sea of white, no green, yellow, orange or purple, nothing. So he sailed on, blissfully unaware that the cloaked predatory form of The Hammer of Sorrow was looming ahead of him, its tell-tale scanner trace hidden behind a sea of pure white squares of cargo and debris.
Chapter 8 (Surprise Party)
======================================
Roh'i checked the cargo manifest for the sixth time since leaving Oresle: A few tons each of industrial lubricants, first-aid kits, tools, component parts, industrial grade gems, and alloys, and one hermasealed and triple locked UPS container simply labelled "Technical Documents." All completely legit, and not the sort of haulage that attracts pirates in most circumstances. Also not unusual was the destination, Pteredyne Tech's Factory Station #4 at Enonla; it was the sort of cargo a shipbuilding business like Pteredyne ordered all the time. Yet no details were given on the nature of the load in the briefing data he was given, which struck him as odd.
Equally strange was the extra equipment fitted along with the turret batteries - A military shield enhancement, a Naval energy unit, and a piece of kit so rare and irreplaceable that only a few lucky commanders had one: a cloaking device.
It was all very strange that such invaluable kit was fitted for a mere milk run, and the Mystery Man's warning that hired guns may try to stop him made Roh'i suspicious that there was more going down than was normal for shakedown runs of a prototype ship, especially a fracking freighter. Not your run of the mill bulk carrier granted; the beast packed as much total firepower as his Dragon M, if not more, and it's laser aim and precise turning made extended range laser sniping a desirable tactic. Still, nothing about this job was adding up...
While they had encountered a few pirates along the way, most of the criminals were flying medium sized craft armed with beam lasers and standard missiles, and weren't much of a threat judging by their poor evasion tactics. With the skills of Roh'i and his brilliant young mechanic at the controls, the armaments of the Kirin were able to dispatch or scare them off with swift efficiency. So much for hired mercs, Roh'i thought as he pulled away and out of the corona of the Maxeedso system's sun. Whoever was doing the hiring was reaching for the lowest, and most expendable cannon fodder he, she or it could find. Not to mention the most untraceable...
"Best to come up with a Plan B, and soon," Roh'i thought to himself. "This deal is starting to smell rather rotten."
Ramania interrupted the big saurian's thoughts, "Hey Boss, the mystery guy... Always puppeteering a mech and masking his calls. Kinda spooky, y'know?"
"Yeah," Roh'i nodded. "Like having conversations with a ghost."
"I gotta wonder what's up with that..."
"I don't know, Kitten. But I'll respect his reasons for the privacy. None of our business, Kitten. We just fly this damn ship, nothing more, nothing less. If this fiasco turns sour on us, we'll ditch this beast and cut our losses, I'll call in some favors, and good riddance to the whole rigmarole. I don't intend to put up with the crazy crap any more than I have to." Roh'i snorted, "I'm getting too old and jaded for nonsense."
Ramania nodded, "I trust your gut feelings, Boss. As always." She knew he has limited tolerance for cloak and dagger dealings, it was all too shady and dishonest for his nature, and usually his instincts steered them away from trouble too hot to handle.
"One more Witch jump, Kitten. You ready?"
"Finally! On your mark, Bossdragon."
"Let 'er rip."
Ramania tapped a few command buttons on her console, and a soft rumbling vibrated the deck plating as the hyperdrive spun up. A few seconds later came the gravitic surge as the ship fell into a self-generated wormhole.
Enonla. A shining blue-green world. For a high TL industrial economy, the planet is mostly pollution free, due to strict local laws controlling industrial waste. It also helped that most of the factories were orbital platforms.
The system was also heavily patrolled; as a corporate state, system authorities could afford to deploy large numbers of police craft. Despite the policing, pirates did make assaults on trade traffic coming into the system.
The warning klaxon sounded as soon as the ship emerged from Witch space. "Contacts!" Ramania swiftly ID'd the incoming ships, "Krait mk1, Krait mk2, Dragon AN, and Imperial Courier, closing fast!"
"Now that's a welcome wagon. Arm all weapons, Kitten." Roh'i opened a broadcomm channel, "Welcome, gentle beings, to Hell's Kitchen. I'm your chef, Wyvern..." Roh'i's jovial rumble turned into a vicious, predatory growl, "...And I'm gonna cook you bastards for lunch!"
The reaction from the hostiles was immediate. "Wyvern? THE Wyvern?! Oh frak this! I'm outta here, man. I have kids to support!" "Ditto what Rosco said, I'm not taking that guy on. My ass ain't iron enough." "Vin, Rosco! Get your asses back here, dammit!"
Roh'i switched off the comm, watching the Kraits break and run without firing a shot. "That's two out of the picture already."
An incoming laser volly from the two remaining hostiles stitched across the Kirin's forward fuselage, quickly dropping the fore shield and cutting through the fuel scoop, rendering it useless. "Mil lasers! So they want to play hardball, eh?" Roh'i growled, his throat reddening with rage. "Gimme the nuke!"
Roh'i turned the ship to present the Kirin's narrow side profile to the remaining pirates, locked the nuclear torpedo onto the Courier, and launched it before targeting the Dragon and lancing the Dragon's hull with a burst from the the side beam laser.
The Courier triggered it's ECM and turned away from the torpedo, but too late as the weapon struck home, blasting off the Courier's vulnerable outboard engines and leaving it tumbling harmlessly out of control. Escape pods ejected from the stricken craft, the pirate crew deciding to abandon ship before a few rounds from the Kirin's turret batteries caused it's overloaded reactor to detonate, spraying debris in all directions.
Meanwhile, the Dragon broke to escape the Kirin's side laser barrage, only to come within the firing arc of the Kirin's dual aft turrets. Roh'i switched to the aft gun camera, triggering the ECM as the Dragon launched a volly of standard missiles, and lined up the aft beam laser while the Dragon began to bleed sparks from it's damaged hull. The Dragon fired a token laser burst into the Kirin's aft shield; Roh'i returned fire, and the withering combo of plasma 'shells' and precise beam laser fire tore the hostile ship into an expanding cloud of debris.
Ramania smirked, "They shoulda taken Rosco's advice."
"Ayup. What's the damage, Kitten?"
"Minimal. Some hull damage but we're not holed too bad, no atmosphere loss. The nav array is fried, and the scoop is offlined. That's it, Bossdragon."
Roh'i nodded to her and pulled the ship back on course, activating the Torus. "Overall, not too bad. Repairs shouldn't cost too much."
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Chapter 9 (The Wages of Greed)
======================================
Meechuck Vin, despite the rather fetid air in his cockpit, breathed a huge sigh of relief. His lashed together, clapped out Krait had, for once, performed within range of its elusive factory specs. He watched, as some distant acquaintances, and the smart looking military corporal paying him for this "simple" blast and grab operation, evaporated into white blossoms of shrapnel and cargo contents. Vin didn't mind admitting it he was a coward, and a bloody good one too. If the alternatives were, one; coward or two; brave frozen blood streak, smeared evenly through deep space. Then he knew which one he wanted to be.
He had to admit, nagging doubts had started creeping into his mind as soon as the "target" arrived in system. It all sounded so much simpler in the bar where he'd woken up that morning. His bar bill paid, 500 credits wired directly into his account, free tank of sun juice and all they wanted in return was to scare some hick trader who'd be witching in that afternoon. The plan was good, "You're just there to make up the numbers Vin, its not like you'll actually have to do anything! That's what we've got the Dragon for." The plan looked even better after three large Enonlan SornBerry rums. Unfortunately after the time taken convincing flight control that he was sober enough to fly and getting everyone out to the beacon, they were running late and he had lost his alcohol fired urge for the whole endeavor. Still, a job was a job. Then that thing had arrived. It wasn't a ship, it was a small town with engines stuck on the back of it. Correction, it was a small town, with engines, enough plasma turrets to happily wage a small war, being piloted by one of the 8 chart's better known killers. The rumors Vin had heard painted the combateer known as Wyvern as a ruthless demon, said to have very little fear or mercy. Piss that guy off and you'll soon end up dead, they said.
Dragon, shmagon, he don't care if the corporal was a secret elite. This was bad magic, time to go. So Meechuck used the fuel bought for him that morning to leave the others to their fate. Regrettable, but the only witnesses were either dead, as cowardly as he was, or hunter killer hard-asses like Wyvern who frequented bars much rougher than those he frequently lost himself in. His reputation, such as it was, appeared to be safe.
As his adrenalin levels subsided, so his thoughts began to clear and the other driving force that directed Meechuck Vins rather simplistic actions began once again to assert itself. Opportunism. Looking down, Vin saw the rim of his scanner was freckled in inviting white dots. The mountain ship had torus-ed planet side a few moments ago, apparently completely ignoring the cargo and debris left over from the some what one sided battle. The vague notion that there would be a certain amount of disrespect, in sifting through the remains of his compatriots ships. Especially considering his some what lacklustre performance, sailed right through his mind without so much as touching the sides. Screw em. They're dead. He's not. Someone was going to profit from this galactic abortion. It might as well be him. He spun the somewhat sweaty yoke. Next stop, free cred city.
But there was something wrong, usually to close the last few clicks Meetuck double tapped the torus drive. This not only got him to his catch quickly, but also acted as an early warning system, just in case there were any other ships around that he might need to be aware of. It failed to engage. He rechecked the scanner; a spotted sea of white, no green, yellow, orange or purple, nothing. So he sailed on, blissfully unaware that the cloaked predatory form of The Hammer of Sorrow was looming ahead of him, its tell-tale scanner trace hidden behind a sea of pure white squares of cargo and debris.
